


carry all this broken bone

by crystallized



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, First Time, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, New York Millennials (Blaseball Team), POV Second Person, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystallized/pseuds/crystallized
Summary: When you were kids you used to sit with Randy on the edges of rooftops like this one, daring each other to fly, so sure of your invincibility. You don’t feel so invincible now, not with the shadows creeping across your skin.
Relationships: Andrew Solis/Dominic Marijuana
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	carry all this broken bone

**Author's Note:**

> Characterization heavily pulled from the RP, who are all doing a great job, though it's not canonical to the RP even a little bit. Like most things I've ever written, it came out in a fevered haze in under 24 hours from the moment I thought about Dom and Andy smoking/kissing on the roof between Dom getting hit and his incineration. Thanks to whoever or whatever made me think of that.

You’ve never been lucky.

You’ve gotten by pretty well, though, at least until this year. Raised your little brother, on your own, too, after your father left. Made the pros, got chosen as captain for the team you always loved, led them to the playoffs three times. Handled everything that happened since the Book opened pretty well if you say so yourself—Moab, Jaylen, Randy, LA, Scrap, Chorby. Fell in love with your teammate…watched said teammate fall in love with a more talented member of a more talented team…fought with them (let them start fights with you), over and over again, screaming rows and cold silences until they left you with a hole in your heart. Coped with the pain when they told you Randy died, and then made it through the weeks of wondering if it was going to end up being true anyway, endured the sleepless nights sitting by his burned body in the hospital and praying not to lose him too. 

You’ve never been lucky, but this season has been especially shit.

You take a deep breath from the joint between your fingers and stare out over the city. When you were kids you used to sit with Randy on the edges of rooftops like this one, daring each other to fly, so sure of your invincibility. You don’t feel so invincible now, not with the shadows creeping across your skin. You don’t feel so invincible thinking of Wes, of the horror that punched you in the chest as you watched him burn. You were sad to lose Scrap and Chorby, everyone was, but you never really felt like you knew either of them, hadn’t settled into your new captain’s skin enough to get to know them before they were gone. Wes was different. Wes hurt. Moody hurt. Scorp hurt. And Jaylen…you never knew her either but you mourned her just the same, with the rest of the league, and now she’s back and causing terror and now you wonder sometimes how the Garages manage to sleep at night. You wonder if Teddy feels responsible like you did every time your teammates started shit but on an exponential scale. You think for a moment, if you survive the week, maybe you’ll call him, see if he wants to talk about it. You _know_ , though. You don’t need Randy to tell you. You can and do hope because you know how much it’ll hurt the team, but you know deep down that you aren’t going to make it. Others have, yeah, but you can feel it, hear it—the whispering of dark flames like a buzz in the back of your skull, calling, creeping, waiting for its time.

You’ve never been lucky, and you aren’t going to be this time.

It’s somewhat surprising, that they let you get away like this, things being how they are. Your team has never been great at giving anyone the space they need (and you’re certainly no exception). Expressing feelings is reserved for late nights, for karaoke and siesta and party time, when the relief and drink runs heavy and hot and somehow you can all find the words that are nowhere to be found in sober daylight. You love your team, and you wish it was easier to tell them. You know they love you, and their love can be overwhelming. That’s why you’re here, on the roof, alone, with no company but the stars and the wind and the shadow of death. Any one of them would join you, if you asked. That’s why you can’t. The sky is clear, the stars a reflection of the city lights below, and if this is to be one of your last nights you want to savor the city you love and the sounds it makes when it begs for sleep. 

You’re so lost in it that you don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close, don’t feel the presence until it stops by your side. You snap your head, to protest, to say something, to defend yourself, but your shoulders relax by instinct when you see it’s just Andy. He’s never asked anything of you that you didn’t want to give. You sometimes wish he would ask for more. You’ve been up here with him before, a year ago that feels like an entire lifetime, before Randy—and he was with you then, too, in the days when you thought you would fall apart out of guilt and grief it was Andy who kept you together. If someone had to come up here to check on you, you’re more than glad it’s him. 

You’ve never been lucky, but for this you are grateful.

He doesn’t speak. You pass the joint until it’s too low to hold, tuck it away and pull out another. Andy lights it with his eyes locked on yours, brilliant blue reflecting the bright fire, and you know without a doubt that you love this man before you. It doesn’t…it’s not a shock, not like last time. Last time you didn’t even realize it was anything until you watched them walk away; this time you’ve known it was something for a while, something too precious to act on, something you couldn’t express for fear of losing it all over again. Even now, knowing in your heart this is the end of days, you can’t say it, can only be as bold as to brush your fingertips against his when you trade heat for cold, lingering for as long as you can. You’re only bold enough to rest your shoulder against his as the city gets darker. You’ll never be able to say how long you stood there together, locked in silence and smoke and darkness, wordlessly sharing your world with him, your heart beating faster with every touch. 

You’re not bold but he is, this former spy turned to pink and blue in a twist of fate. He slips your stash tin out of your back pocket and _oh_ , you can’t hide the way your body trembles when his fingers catch on a bit of skin below your shirt, so quick it could be an accident if not for the smile that lights up his eyes as he gently puts the nub away, if not for how he _does it again_ to return the container to its home. You thought you were already unstable but just his touch is enough to ruin you further. You can’t pretend anymore that it’s the cold making you shiver when Andy runs his fingers feather-light down your arm, that something inside you doesn’t melt away instantly when your eyes meet and you see infinite compassion—fear, yes, that too, it’s been in every eye you’ve met since Jaylen marked you, but in Andrew you see compassion, desire, longing, and above all a hope that shines bright as he tilts your head towards his, and you let him.

It’s been…you can’t remember the last time you kissed someone, or even the last time someone kissed you. You’re sure you’ve done it drunk out of your mind at one or two parties or another, remember waking up with an ache in your head and a tingling on your lips, but you haven’t…not like this, under the cool air, more clear-headed than you have any right to be. Not slow, not soft, the gentle press of Andy’s lips on yours, a boon, not a demand. The way he rests one arm on your shoulder and wraps the other around your waist and pulls you tight into his arms, you feel more grounded than you have since Jaylen hit you, since you stepped up to that plate determined to end it, to get your team out of harm’s way. The shadow flames that have been licking at your skin since then can’t compare to the heat starting to bloom in your chest, the pinpricks of acute sensation from Andy’s fingers screaming that he’s going to force you to forget, if only for a moment, and you welcome it with open arms. You’re always a reasonable, responsible person, an older brother and team captain; even tonight most of your worries have been for others but Andrew’s twisting and pulling his fingers in your hair so hard the kiss would be broken if not for his other hand pushing in at the nape of your neck and all you feel is _everything_. You drink everything he’s giving you until you think you might drown in it.

You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when he pulls away, nor the way your eyes refocus on his lips turned dark red. You’ve never been the kind of person to want for much but gods, you want this, you _need_ this, more than anything else in the world, your time is running out and you want to have this with someone you love before it ends; you refuse to die without knowing what that’s like. You still can’t bring yourself to ask but he does, murmurs all the questions into your neck alongside soft kisses. Is this okay, are you okay, is this what you want, tell me what you need, he asks so many questions and you know he’s just—you know this is a good thing, you’ve never talked about anything approaching this topic with Andy before and he’s doing the right thing like he always does, but the shadows are returning and you want them gone again.

You’ve never been lucky, but tonight, it feels like you are.

He takes you inside and takes you home, guiding you to your own room with soft laughter and his palm against the small of your back. You’ve spent so many nights there together already; you’ve wondered once or twice what it would feel like to go like this. The electricity in the air exceeds anything you dreamed in your wildest imaginings, and the silence of your sleeping teammates adds a heavy weight that you can’t, won’t, don’t break until you’re in safe behind your closed door and then you laugh, too-bright, too-anxious. Andy stops. You don’t want him to stop, you want him to move but he stands there, leaning casually against your door looking for all the world like he does any other night except he’s searching for something and you can only pray he finds it. When he finally moves it’s to drop his jacket on the floor and place his hands, steady, on your shoulders, to lock with your eyes and ask, one last time, one last question, and he must hear the desperation in your answer because in the next second his lips are on yours again and he’s pushing you down into the bed.

Andy takes you apart like a man who’s been thinking about it for a very long time, and it warms something inside you to think that maybe he has. The whole world shrinks down to just you, and him, and the bed and the glow of the city light on his skin that’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, more beautiful than even the city itself. He’s a treasure to behold and he makes you feel like one, too, with whispers and moans and sighs of delight, the way his eyes go wide when he takes off your shirt, the delicacy of touches around the cursed spot of blue-black on your chest. You can’t hate it as much when Andy’s looking at you that way—you never could hate anything he loved with his eyes and now you know yourself to be counted among that list. You lose yourself in him as he makes good on that silent promise to make you forget, with lips and fingers, tongue and teeth and he says he can’t taste the shadows but honestly he feels so good that you can’t bring yourself to care if he does. The gods have never been good to you but Andrew _is_ and if he’d let you, you would worship him for all the days you have left. You’ve lost nights before to skin and sweat but with Andy you're sure that nothing is lost and everything is gained. So, this is what it feels like. Huh.

You sleep and wake and sleep again. Andy hogs all the blankets. Nothing has changed; everything has changed. You lay kisses against the back of his shoulder; he softly combs his fingers through your hair. You open your eyes to meet his in the predawn light and he catches you before you start to spiral. You’re both scared—terrified, really—but at least you’re scared together and you’re in love and you’re not going to die today (because there’s no eclipse in the forecast) and one more day is all the time in the world.

You’ve never been lucky, but you wouldn't call this luck. This is one last gift and you think, maybe, you deserve it.


End file.
